


By the Hand Led

by Karasbroken



Series: Little Boy Lost [4]
Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Episode: e01 The Even Chance | The Duel, M/M, Male Friendship, POV Horatio, Pre-Simpson, Pre-Slash, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20427860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karasbroken/pseuds/Karasbroken
Summary: On Justinian, at the beginning of their friendship, Horatio and Archie create a secret language together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An extended "missing scene", I wanted to see a little more of their friendship before Simpson came back on board.

Horatio was shivering, but he wasn't cold. He and Archie were up on the poop, Archie watching for signals, Horatio, learning to do the same. The other mid was rattling away, as usual, pointing out each of the flag lockers, and what flag it held, and what it meant. Horatio wanted to pay attention, but kept being distracted by Archie's animated face, wildly gesticulating hands, even the way the boy wore the uniform, looking so effortlessly like an officer, so trim and naval, while Horatio still felt as if he'd ended up in fancy dress by mistake. He had never had a particular friend before, and Horatio was quite proud of the one he almost had now.

"Look, Hornblower!" Archie was pointing across the water to where another great hulk had hoisted flags. "That's our number, on the _Arethusa_." Kennedy flew into action, muttering as the mid consulted the signal book and pulled flags, then shouting for a sailor to come hoist the chosen selection from the mainmast. Horatio remembered that the red and white flag in the shape of an isosceles triangle meant an answer, but couldn't make sense of the other three.

"Mr. Reilly!" Kennedy's voice cracked out, startlingly loud. One of the little volunteers ran over. "Find Lieutenant Eccleston. Tell him there's a message coming in from _Arethusa_." The little boy knuckled and scurried off like a blue-coated rat, to Horatio about as welcome. He always felt twice as awkward around the youngest of the ship's complement. Even the tiniest, whose ginger-crowned head barely passed his waist, had more experience, and confidence, than he did.

"Here, Horatio." Archie pushed the little code book into his hands, pointing to where someone had hand-lettered in a list of names and numbers. He recognized several as being nearby ships, stuck together on anchor until sufficient men and supplies were found to crew them. "We've sent acknowledgment to _Arethusa_, now we wait to see what they have to say. Supper invitation, I expect, this time of day."

In due course, the other ship pulled the flags down, and sent up a new hoist. As soon as it started up, Archie looked over at him, challenging. Horatio flushed, and had to scramble to remember the numbers associated with the flags, and then hunt down the proper code. By the time he had come up with 'Rendezvous', Kennedy was calling their men to dip the flags in acknowledgment.

"You're going to have to be much faster than that, Mr. Hornblower. Fast signals can make all the difference in the heat of battle, and it's us mids in charge of them."

Horatio was annoyed by the boy's officious air. Sailing knowledge was one thing, but even he knew that most of the fleet had been rotting off Spithead for a decade. Yet Archie was talking like a seasoned war veteran. He didn't want to quarrel though, so he just nodded, and tried to look serious. When the third hoist went up, Horatio couldn't make it out at all, the combinations weren't in the book, and he was about to give up and ask Kennedy when Mr. Eccleston arrived on deck. Archie hustled over, immediately. "The _Arethusa_'s wardroom is requesting our first lieutenant, sir."

"Any word on the captain?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Mr. Hornblower!" Horatio tried not to jump. "Send my compliments, and order the cutter."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Luckily, he remembered without having to consult the book that the red flag with the white cross meant 'affirmative' and handed it over to the the seaman to be hoisted. He felt a vague sense of disappointment, that his first participation in a naval communication would be something so prosaic as arranging supper. Still, there was a burst of activity now, the preparing of the little boat, and sending off of the lieutenant, which he had not seen before. Soon enough watch was over, and he could go below to his own meal, crammed together next to Kennedy, trying to hide how little he liked the food and drink, and how much the company. Well, some of the company.

As the midshipmen grew louder, and began to sing, it was much less convivial. But when he got up, Kennedy grabbed his hand, and whispered in his ear to meet him in the sail locker. This mysterious offer was intriguing enough that he didn't even mind that he went the wrong way twice getting down to the orlop, and arrived in the right place sometime after Kennedy, who was sitting on a crate outside the bosun's storeroom, grinning, when he got there.

"It's in use, but here is just as good." Archie patted the top of the box, and Horatio hopped up, only to immediately have something soft pressed into his hands. "For you." The packet was a series of miniature quilts, each no larger than his palm, fabric cunningly pieced together to match the signal flags. One had been torn and carefully mended, several had stains, and one was lost completely, and replaced with a bit of drawn-on sailcloth. He glanced up to catch a fond, thoughtful expression on his friend's face.

"Toy flags?"

"Practice! My sister Anne made them for me." One brown, marked finger ran over them, fingering the little stitches. "A few years ago, now, of course. Don't need them anymore, it's all up here." The finger now tapped a tow-headed temple. "Mostly anyway. Here, you'll want these." Archie handed over a couple worn out pages, on which a list of letters and phrases had been written in the mid's cramped, but highly readable hand.

Horatio puzzled over the missing numerals. "What do these letters mean, I thought the flags were numbered."

"Of course they are, but I couldn't write the codes down correctly, could I? What if these papers had fallen into enemy hands?"

The boy's patronizing tone made Horatio flush. It hardly seemed likely they would be boarded by the French just off Portsmouth, or that midshipman's chests would be ransacked if they did. "Oh yes, that makes sense. What is the code?"

"K is one, Kennedy, you see, started with myself. It goes on from there, L, is two, and so on." Horatio was tempted to point out that Archie's simple substitution cipher would hardly fool an enemy spy. It was just the sort of observation that had put paid to other new friendships, though, and wiser now, he held his tongue. Horatio did resolve to be very careful with the little scraps of paper, just in case.

They ended up spending quite a merry hour together, almost as merry as the occupants of the sail locker. Better perhaps, since from the sound of it, Horatio was occasionally convinced a man was being murdered in there. Archie didn't pay it any mind though, beyond a grin now and then, blithely setting out flags, and quizzing him on their meanings, equally gleeful whether he answered correctly or no.

By the time the bell sounded to prepare for watch, he was right more often than not. Unlike knots and sails and pulleys, this was something he was good at. He enjoyed the surprise in Kennedy's eyes as he deciphered a final, complicated hoist, and the warm, strong hand clapping his shoulder as they got up to leave. At this moment, at least, he felt Mr. Midshipman Hornblower might have a place in His Majesty's navy after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Falling into their hammocks side by side the next night, Horatio was less sanguine about his prospects. He'd been tricked by Cleveland into a hunt for a hammock ladder, and worse, Archie hadn't told him it was a goose chase. He didn't figure it out until he made a fool of himself asking the men, and been bottled by Lieutenant Chadd for not being on deck.

He'd spent most of the rest of the watch stationed far across the long quarterdeck from Kennedy, and not been sorry for it. Combined with the start of a winter squall just in time to soak him to the bone before they could come off watch, Horatio was back to feeling out of place and out of sorts.

He stared up at the deck beams and resolutely refused to look in Kennedy's direction until the lamps had been extinguished again for the night and he didn't have to.

"Horatio." He wasn't in a mood for conversation and turned over on his side. A cold hand shook him a little, tried to coax him over, but he resisted. "Horatio, come on. It was just a poke. Don't be such a snot..."

"Kennedy, bone box!" one of the other mids barked, Hether, he thought.

With this curious command, Archie shut up immediately, though Horatio could hear the boy hadn't settled. He heard a loud sigh, and then the quiet rustle as Kennedy rifled through the coats they'd hung nearby. A few moments later, he was shaken again, and when he didn't react, something was shoved under his arm.

Unable to resist, he squirmed around, and discovered the three bits of fabric. In the pitch black of the berth, he could not quite tell by touch which of the flags he had been given, though he did try, calculating the possible combinations from the shape of the piecework, and trying to remember each number's pass phrases. He fell asleep before he could work it out, and woke only reluctantly, when his hammock was firmly jostled.

Shaken by a familiar hand of course, and his first blinking sight was Kennedy's lantern-lit face, wearing a smile that was less impish than normal, almost sheepish. Horatio's heart was not prepared to withstand much assault, and he knew he'd already forgiven Archie. He felt his own lips turn up at the corners.

"You got my message then?" Archie shrugged on a coat and began doing up the buttons.

Horatio looked around, then retrieved the scattered flags and studied them, trying to discern their original arrangement. Making a guess, he rummaged for the paper with the codes. _'Apology_'. Horatio made a face, and waved the flags at the other mid. "Now I have. Thank you much. I can hardly be expected to read your signals blind in the dark, can I?"

"I suppose it wasn't the best thought out. But I had to be quiet, and I didn't want you to go to sleep upset with me." Archie handed him his own coat, and made a gesture offering to help Horatio with his still damp and tangled hair.

"Perhaps you should find a different method for relaying your after hours regrets, then." He turned around to let Kennedy start on his queue.

"Already planning my future errors, how very foresightful, Mr. Hornblower." Kennedy's hands were very careful, but they always were, smoothing his curls easier than he had ever managed them himself. "Well let's see, nighttime dispatches... I can hardly signal you with lanterns, or even candles. I fear our messmates would not care for drums either. No, I might have to resign myself to saving my apologies for morning. As well as any more pleasant communications.

"Which would not be wholly bad, you need more sleep, Horatio." Archie finished tying his ribbon, and spun him about, brushing an abrupt, but gentle thumb over the top of his cheekbone. "I don't want to be accused of blackening your eyes." A quick grin, a soft slap on the face, and the boy was off again, scrambling for a share of the coffee, leaving Horatio, as usual, struggling not to be left behind.

Kennedy's spirits were not much dimmed by the squall that resumed soon after they went up. Horatio, on the other hand, was quickly miserable. He had little tolerance for cold, and had never in his life been forced to stand about in sleeting rain. Officers could not cower under what shelter there was, nor would dignity allow him to huddle too deeply into his coat.

Not that he had much pride left, after the tossing of _Justinian_ in the rough surf had him gagging over the taffrail before the third glass. The other mids wasted no time in mocking him for his weak stomach, but Eccleston took pity on him after another two hours of sliding about the deck in sodden boots, periodically retching. The lieutenant sent most of the watch below somewhat early and Clayton helped Archie put him to bed. Horatio had no will to protest the mollycoddling. He did not begin to feel better though, until Archie slid into the neighboring hammock, and took his hand in the dark.

It was enough, that simple point of contact. A slowly warming hand in his, squeezing hard as the ship groaned and heeled, holding tight so that their beds swung in unison, a gentle oasis in the growing storm. Those fingers, that palm, the constant pressure, became a focus, blotting out the pain in his head, the tossing in his belly.

Horatio was not alone, that hand proved it. He wanted to talk to Archie, to chase away the doubts and the melancholy and the nausea. To bathe himself in the other boy's good humor, even in the jokes at his expense.

Unable, not even certain Kennedy was still awake, he stroked his five-fingered talisman instead. He slid his thumb back and forth over the tendons and bones, finding every scar, counting every segment, rubbing the tough and peeling fingertips.

His brain refused to submit to sleep, rambling instead to codes and ciphers, signal flags and drum beats. After some thought he began to experiment, tapping out patterns on nails and knuckles, devising a system that could be spelled with just his thumb, playing Kennedy's hand like a harpsichord. Refining his whimsy into an efficient signaling system was just the sort of challenge his mind found soothing.

He drifted off still pressing and tapping, and when he woke with empty hands, felt oddly bereft.


	3. Chapter 3

The storm had passed, at least, and it was a better day.

Cold as only January can be, but something like sunlight greeted their watch. There was a bustle after breakfast, because word came that the captain would be aboard the next day. The men were put to cleaning, though they seemed to have little enthusiasm for it. The mids were set to navigation practice, given a few problems to work out, and sent below with their slates to stay out of the way.

Horatio steadily worked through each exercise, fingers almost trembling on the chalk with the excitement of putting to the practical test his beloved trigonometry. The other mids were less pleased. Cleveland and Hether muttered together over a book, finally deciding that their grog rations were needed before work could proceed. Archie finished the problems quickly, a cavalier rush through the various steps that resulted in_—_Horatio was surprised to note_—_all _incorrect_ answers.

It was the first time since he'd come aboard that Kennedy hadn't exhibited complete competence. Horatio checked his own work three times, sure at first that he had made the errors. Long after Archie had tossed aside the slate in favor of pen, ink, and paper, Horatio finally finished the exercise. Sneaking a glance at the other mid's work again, he was forced to conclude that Archie's navigation was off by several degrees in every instance.

Now Horatio had a dilemma. Correcting his schoolmate's errors had never won him any friends. He suspected quite the opposite, that other boys had often been resentful of his facility with mathematics. Archie had a quick temper, he had seen it already.

Horatio hated to risk it. The bronze-haired, plump-cheeked lad was smiling at the letter the mid was working on; sketching a cunning little man with a few deft lines; now looking up and smiling at _him _before returning to writing. But Kennedy might be more angry that he said nothing, if the lieutenant was displeased and Horatio could have given warning. As if Horatio were trying to make himself look good, at his shipmate's expense. That was an accusation he was familiar with as well.

His indecision was interrupted when Archie looked up again, to catch him staring.

"Tell me something, Hornblower, what were you doing with my hand last night? Kept me awake half the watch, but I was feeling sorry for you, so I let you go on with it. Some sort of Kentish pat-a-cake? I'm afraid I didn't know my part."

Horatio flushed, it seemed foolish suddenly. But Archie had asked. And he was rather proud of the idea. And the older mids were gathered at their end of the table, paying them no mind... "Here, I'll show you."

Horatio took the pen and inkwell from Archie, and pressing one small, square-palmed hand down flat on the table, started to draw letters, just as he had envisioned the night before. First each of the nails, then knuckles, then the space between each of the knuckles. _Phalanges_, some fragment from his father's medical texts reminded him, _distal_, _middle_, and _proximal_. And finally, the large knuckles themselves.

"Horatio! That's my hand you're drawing on."

"Be patient." Archie made a disgusted noise, but let him finish.

The letters were rather messy. The ink did not want to cling as neatly to skin as it did to paper. He was done soon enough and blowing gently to dry them, which made Archie twitch. Letters 'A' to 'Y', omitting 'X', starting across the four finger tips in order, and then up the hand in six rows.

"It works like this." He came around the table then, to sit next to Archie, taking the inked left hand in his own right. Thinking for a moment, he began to tap out his message, pressing lightly over each letter before going on to the next. '_H-E-L-L-O-A-R-C-H-I-E._'

"I think too much studying has affected your head, Hornblower." But Archie grinned at him anyway, and pulled their hands down under the table, where the other men wouldn't see what they were doing.

After a few moments to stare at the pattern, Archie switched positions, and pressing rough thumb to Horatio's knuckles, began a message too. '_D-A-F-T-A-S-A-B-R-..._'

Horatio elbowed the other boy, making them both break out in giggles that drew the momentary attention of the rest of the mids. They hushed up then, Archie apparently returning to the letter, while Horatio used his spare hand to turn the pages of his maths book. Under the table, their other hands were busier.

They went on like that the rest of the afternoon. Horatio would look back on it later as the best that _Justinian_ ever offered.

Archie caught on quickly, but Horatio's longer fingers meant he was always faster in rattling out the letters. They came to an agreement on a few abbreviations, stroking a thumb across all the knuckles for yes, grabbing the whole hand harder for no. Archie added a variation, that turned letters to numbers, so they could make use of the signal flag meanings Horatio was already learning. Though they found that most of their messages, strangely enough, could not be located in the Howe code.

Horatio discovered that it was himself that Archie was drawing into the letter. He didn't think it looked very much like him, more a sketch of some Italian marble of antiquity. It was a striking face, with a large squiggle of curls over huge dark eyes and strong shadowed jaw, bearing no resemblance to his own clownish features. Well, the hair was almost wild enough.

Archie had seven siblings, he learned, but was closest to Anne, Anne of the little flags, to whom this letter was addressed. Horatio didn't mean to pry, but could not help peeking at the words that accompanied his portrait, and his heart gave an odd thump to read the praise:

_... I will hope for the best, and that Captain Keane returns tomorrow, with one less lieutenant. But having said the worst, now here is my best news: I have a new shipmate, Midshipman Horatio Hornblower. That is truly his name, but to make up for it, as you can see he is quite the handsomest boy---fearfully clever too. He is tall and thin with long musician's hands and a very sweet smile, which I have not shown here because it is very hard to get out of him._

_He is from Kent, and has a father who is a doctor but no mother, and no brothers or sisters, either. I have told him he can have some of mine, since I have too many. Shall we give him Bobbie and John? And Maggie? I would hate to part with her, but every boy should have a sister, if it can be managed. He can have Kitty if you prefer._

_Horatio—we were at Christian names almost immediately—has never been to sea! He was carried on the books of _Justinian_ until he left school before Christmas. I think he must miss home, for he is very gentle, and does not like loud noises, or drinking—you may like him even more now—and so is not very comfortable here. Worse, he has been sick several times, though we are still at anchor off Spithead. But that part is a secret, and you must never tell anyone, especially the Captain. I wish I had some of your lavender water, I think it would help him greatly._

_I hope that he will have a better time of it once his legs and stomach get used to sea, and he is not so moody and serious. He is hopeless at some things, but paid much more attention in school than I ever did, and sometimes comes out with thoughts I hardly understand, but seem very wise. We have teamed up against the older mids, and even have our own secret hand signals, which Horatio devised..._

A little sketch of a hand, with the letters drawn on, made it's way onto the paper too, along with a brief description of their new code.

Horatio made himself return to Euclid then, but somewhere between the theorems, found he needed to bite hard on his lip, to stem a surge of sentiment. He did miss the quiet of home and the clarity of school, and worried that he would never get his sea legs, that he would be turned out of the Navy for seasickness, or clumsiness.

It seemed impossible that he would ever know how to run a gun crew, or swing a sword in battle. But just as these thoughts began to drown him, Horatio felt a gentle rubbing on his little finger, and then tapping across his hand: '_A-L-L-R-I-G-H-T?_'

He glanced over, to meet a pair of deep blue pools, and a quizzical eyebrow.

Gripping that small palm in his, tight enough to hurt, he let those eyes pull him free, save him, from his melancholy doubt. But that was the wrong sign, and he made himself smile, because Archie was worth smiling at. Horatio brushed his thumb across warm knuckles for his answer. _'Yes_.'

* * *

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